


Night Terrors

by with_wit_and_perfect_timing



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha Steve Rogers, Anxiety Attacks, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Has Nightmares, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Gen, Hurt Steve Rogers, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Modern Bucky Barnes, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Steve Rogers, Psychological Torture, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Has PTSD, Torture, Up all night to get Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-19 17:20:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8218930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/with_wit_and_perfect_timing/pseuds/with_wit_and_perfect_timing
Summary: Same series of events, but from Steve's point of view, what he is thinking.





	1. Chapter 1

           

 

            It’s the nights that were the hardest. When he was alone with his thoughts. Bucky had a choice every night. He could either stay awake, and face the deafening sound of silence with torturous thoughts pounding in his head, or submit to the night terrors that always left him screaming himself awake.

 

            The apartment he and Steve had moved into was even worse than the house in Utah. Steve told him that they needed to relocate every few weeks to keep them on their feet. Bucky had already forgotten where they were, and that scared him.

 

            The apartment was just like the ones he had stayed in before Steve found him. Broken, forgotten, and cold. The entire apartment was just one room, with the kitchen in one corner, a bathroom the size of a closet in another corner, and the bedroom was in the middle of the room. There were two beds, twin sized, that looked just as inviting as the rest of the apartment. There were thin blankets, definitely not enough to keep the frost out. Bucky wondered if he was even going to last the night without becoming unhinged.

 

            Bucky made the decision to try and sleep. It had been a long day of driving, and he thought he had about a 3% chance of sleeping soundly, and that was a risk he was willing to take. That night was the first night they had spent in the apartment.

 

            It was fourteen degrees outside and twenty-six degrees inside. Bucky knew he had to keep his nightmares to himself. Steve could never find out. He wouldn’t understand the feeling of remembering things you were supposed to forget, the things you were _forced_ to forget. It was like someone was taking a knife to his head, scratching and digging at his brain and ripping out the lost memories.

 

            The moon was bright that night, and it had shown through the two big windows facing the city. Steve was in the bathroom, freshly out of the shower, and brushing his teeth. Bucky had already finished his bedtime routine, and gotten into his domestic homewear. Thick, cotton sweatpants, with a soft button-up sweater. He sat on his bed, rubbing his hands together to warm himself up.

 

While Steve had his back turned at the sink, Bucky slipped his gun under his pillow. Steve wanted weapons away from him, but Bucky trusted no one, not even himself. Except Steve. Only Steve.

 

            “Hey Steve?” Bucky called softly.

 

            “Yeah?” He heard from the bathroom.

 

            “Do we have any sleeping pills?”

 

            Steve didn’t answer. The bathroom fell silent. Then Steve appeared in the small door frame, which was barely big enough to fit his broad shoulders. His t-shirt was damp, sticking to his skin from the shower. “Why do you need sleeping pills? Buck, have you not been sleeping?”

 

            “No, no I have.” Bucky lied, wringing his hands. “I was just...wondering.” And with that, he turned away and stuck his legs under the covers. Even though his sweater was thick as well as his pants, the cold still crept in, and burrowed under his skin.

 

            Soon, all the lights were out and Steve climbed into his bed. Bucky covered his head and breathed with his mouth wide open, to try to conserve warmth. It worked well, and that’s what made him fall asleep. He didn’t mean to, truly. But the night terrors were starting, and it was too late to wake up now.

            He was sitting in a chair, _the_ chair. The chair they used to recondition. He was slumped forward, and very confused. “Unstable” was the word the scientists used to call him.

            _The man on the bridge, the man on the bridge, bridge, man, Bucky. Who the hell is Bucky?_ He had been trying to figure that out for hours.

 

            _Wipe him._

  
            Mouth guard, the clamp, the pain. The searing pain.

  
            _Wipe him. Do it again. Start over. Redo._ They acted like Bucky wasn’t a human, just a hollow shell with no defense, no feelings. And soon enough, that’s all he was.

  
            Then the nightmare changed. It was Tony, fighting Captain America. No, it was Steve. He was hurting him. Like the boys in the back alleys of Brooklyn, beating Steve to a pulp. What an idiot, refusing to cry uncle even when his life depended on it. Steve never knew when it was time to give up. God, how Bucky wish he wasn’t like that.

  
            While Tony was destroying Cap, Bucky lay there on the floor. Unable to move, to help, to fight. He was paralyzed, helpless on the cold concrete. Tony had an unfair advantage, being surrounded by metal and all. Steve was weakening, bleeding, but still fighting. Tony had him on the ground, throwing punches left and right.

  
            It was then Bucky realized the inevitable. Steve was going to die, at Tony’s hand. His legs and torso were burned and bleeding from Tony’s blasts, and he was getting some serious head trauma from the bionic punches.

            Suddenly, there was a loud crack, the sound of Steve’s head snapping back, his neck breaking. Tony stopped his punches, and just sat there, staring at his opponent, dead on the ground. Bucky tried to scream, but nothing came out.

  
            Without warning, Bucky had his strength back, and he knew exactly what he was going to do with it. It was just him and Tony. He wanted to rip Iron Man to shreds, for hurting Steve. Rip him apart for hurting the only person keeping Bucky alive.

  
            Within seconds of untamed rage, Bucky had gotten on top of Tony, tearing his exterior until there was just a man. All of a sudden, there was a gun in Bucky’s hand. All he had to do was pull the trigger and it would all be over. Tony didn’t look scared. He looked sad, like he knew what he had done. _Good. He should know._

  
            Suddenly, Buck didn’t want to kill him. _He_ had killed _Tony’s_ parents. What would Bucky do if the tables were turned? His fingers relaxed around the trigger.

  
            Then the words began.

 

            _Longing._

_Rusted._

_Seventeen._

_Daybreak._

Bucky tried to fight it, but his fist tightened around the gun.

 

            _Furnace._

_Nine._

_Benign._

The words slipped into the most concealed parts of Bucky’s mind. Parts he never wanted to see. The assassinations, the blood on his hands, the lives he changed. All of it.

  
            The barrel of the gun was pointed at his own head, ready to blow the memories right out of his brain any second. Bucky stopped fighting. He wanted it all to end. The pain, the memories, the guilt. Everything had to stop.

  
            _Homecoming._

_One._

_Freight Car._

_  
Soldier?_

_  
_             _Ready to comply._

_  
_             _Bucky?_  
            He opened his eyes. Buck was back at the apartment, in his bed. But not in the same position he was in when he fell asleep. Steve was sitting on the side of Bucky’s bed, his face full of fright.

  
            Then Bucky noticed he had his gun pointed to his best friend’s chest.

  
            “Bucky?” Steve asked, the barrel of the gun still poking his chest.

  
            Bucky kept the gun where it was, his face was stone cold. He was breathing heavy, and his throat was scratchy. How loud was he screaming? All he knew now was that his cover was blown.

  
            “Buck, it’s going to be okay. You’re okay. Just…give me the gun.” Steve breathed. His jaw was set firm, but his eyes were sad.

  
            Suddenly, Bucky relaxed, and the gun dropped to the floor. “Oh, God…”

  
            Steve gripped Buck’s arm, and looked into his eyes. “Buck...what happened?”

  
            Bucky was shaking so hard, Steve shook with him. Buck’s throat closed, his bottom lip trembled, and his eyes stung.

  
            _God, don’t cry. Not now._

_  
_             But Steve just kept saying over and over, “It’s okay, Buck. I got you. It’s okay; you’re going to be okay.”

  
            How was it okay? Everything hurt, and nothing was good. There was no light in his constant darkness. Except…

  
            Except Steve.

  
            “Steve…” he whispered, the first two tears flick onto his cheeks. Then he paused.

  
            “I’m so sorry.”  

  
            Bucky didn’t remember the last time he had cried. His throat burned, and his entire body shook as his tears poured down his cheek. Steve said nothing. Only held his pal, his buddy, his Bucky. Bucky knew that it was usually he who comforted the poor, helpless sap as he cried. But as he cried into Steve’s shoulder, gripping Steve’s shirt with his only hand, he had never felt so at home.

  
            He didn’t remember how long he had cried, but when he calmed, Steve got up to make them both tea. He brewed on the kitchen stove while Buck sat on his bed, his face stained with tears. His face was completely flushed, but the deadness that usually haunted his eyes was gone.

  
            “How long have the nightmares been going on?” Steve asked, breaking the silence.

  
            Bucky hesitated and took a deep breath.

  
            “How long?” Steve repeated.

  
            “As long as I can remember.”

  
            He could hear Steve’s exasperated sigh from the kitchen. “Buck...you’ve got to tell me about this kind of stuff.”

  
            “No one knew.”

  
            “And that’s an excuse not to tell me?”

  
            “I didn’t realize this was casual dinner conversation, Steve. I didn’t want you to know.”

  
            Steve turned around from the kettle to face him. “What?” he asked. “Why?”

  
            Bucky tried to think. Why didn’t he tell Steve? He was his closest friend and the one person that stood up for him when the whole world was against him.

  
            “Because…” Bucky began. “Because...you shouldn’t have to see me like that.”

  
            Steve stayed silent. The kettle whistled and he poured the water into two mugs. He handed him his tea and sat on Buck’s bed.

  
            “Bucky...your nightmares...they’re nothing to be ashamed of. I’m not sure how you thought I would react but-”

  
            “This is exactly how I thought you would react. You’d freak out, and act like I’m some broken toy that needed to be fixed.

  
            Steve looked hurt, and stared into his mug. “I don’t think you need to be fixed.” he whispered.

  
            Bucky didn’t know how to respond. He _was_ broken, merely bits and pieces of his former self. He was no longer James Buchanan Barnes, nor the Winter Soldier. He was Bucky. And Steve took him as he was, and didn’t want to change a damn thing. He put up Bucky’s bratty attitude, and mysterious solitude, and didn’t complain.

  
            “Steve...I’m sorry.”

  
            Steve looked up from his mug and smiled sadly. “I know, Buck.”

  
            Then he got up, crossed over to his own bed, and pulled the covers up to his neck.

  
            “Goodnight, Bucky.”

  
            “Goodnight, Steve.”

  
            And Bucky didn’t wake up again until the birds were singing outside those two big windows facing the city.


	2. Steve POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Same series of events, but from Steve's point of view, what he is thinking.

Waking up to the cries of your best friend is the worst way to do so. Steve jolted awake so quickly, it took his heart a full minute to slow before he understood what was going on. The sounds started out as a murmur, a quiet muffle. But then it grew louder and louder, until Steve realized it was emitting from a human being. And not just any.

  
            Bucky was screaming in his sleep. Not the cliché horror movie shriek that Steve found so common in modern films. No, this was wailing. The mere sound of it wrenched Steve’s stomach into a knot. The noise was so pained, dripping with despair…and something else. The only word Steve would use to describe it is “guilt”.

  
            Steve ripped off his own sheets, and stood over Bucky’s bed, breathing heavy. Bucky was flat on his back, his fist gripping his blankets, and his eyes squeezed shut. He was quaking, and his chest heaved deep breaths to let out more soul-crushing wails. He sounded so tortured; Steve didn’t know what to do, or how to wake him up.

  
            So he sat gently next to his friend, and placed his arm on Bucky’s shoulder. Gradually, Bucky’s cries got softer and less frequent, until they turned into quick little whimpers. Steve could see his eyes shifting under their lids.

  
            _Is now a good time to wake him?_ Steve wondered, furrowing his brow. He squeezed Bucky’s shoulder.

  
            In a flash, Buck was awake, his reflexes too fast for Steve to process. The next thing they both knew, there was a gun pointed at Steve’s chest.

  
            “Bucky?” Steve asked softly, his heart in his throat.

  
            Buck kept his eyes on the gun’s tip, breathing heavily. He looked like he had just been in a fight, struggling to breathe, and battling with his sanity. Did this happen to Bucky every night? Nightmares and horrible, abusive memories?

  
            “Buck, it’s going to be okay. You’re okay. Just give me the gun.” Steve didn’t dare move, for fear of getting a bloody hole ripped in his chest.

  
            Suddenly, something inside Bucky flicked on…or off. He clenched his jaw, but let the gun fall to the ground. “Oh, God,” he began, looking off in disbelief.  

  
            “Buck…” Steve tried to put himself in Bucky’s line of vision. “What happened?”

  
            Bucky’s entire body trembled. He tried to speak, but his throat closed up, and his eyes filled with tears. Steve wanted to snap him out of his fear so badly.

  
            “It’s okay, Buck, I got you. It’s okay, you’re going to be okay.”

  
            Bucky looked like he was battling two forces inside his mind. His eyebrows twitched, and his mouth turned into a pitiful frown. His face was scrunched in confusion, his eyes darting in different directions. Then, something clicked.

  
            Bucky looked at Steve, and his tears finally fell. “Steve…” He whispered, trying not to cry.

  
            “I’m so sorry.”

  
            Then he fell into Steve, his forehead colliding with Steve’s collarbone. Bucky shook, and sobbed soundlessly. Steve clenched his jaw, trying to be strong for his friend, but even then a few tears were shed by him.

  
            Bucky cried for a good twenty minutes, repeating his apologies over and over. When he was done crying, he stayed with his face buried into Steve’s sweater, breathing softly. Then, he sat up, leaned against the head board, and closed his eyes.

  
            Steve decided that tea would be the best thing for Bucky. To calm him, and to help him get through the night. While he was brewing it on the old gas stove, he watched Bucky from the corner of his eye. Bucky had kept his eyes closed, his head tilted back, and his right arm slung against his chest, his hand gripping his left shoulder. He looked exhausted, like he had just been in a battle to the death, and he almost lost.

  
            “How long have the nightmares been going on?” Steve called to Bucky, snapping him out of his daze.

  
            Bucky hesitated, and winced.

  
            “How long?” Steve asked again. He didn’t _want_ to pry, but he needed to know.

  
            “For as long as I can remember.” Bucky said, like it was no big deal.

  
            That was exactly what Steve feared he would say. He sighed, and turned his back to the beds. Why didn’t Bucky open up to him like he did in the old days? What was Steve doing wrong? The worst thing of all is the shame that Steve felt. Not even his best friend wanted to tell him important things.

  
            “Buck…you gotta tell me about this kind of stuff.” Steve said.

  
            “No one knew.”

  
            That stung, but Steve didn’t let it show.

  
            “And that’s an excuse not to tell me?”

  
            "I didn't realize this was casual dinner conversation, Steve. I didn't want you to know."

  
            Didn’t want him to know?

  
            “What?” Steve turned to face his friend.

  
            Bucky looked like he immediately regretted those words, even though he meant them. He was picking at his sweater, a nervous tick he’s always had.

  
            “Why?” Steve asked.

  
            Bucky looked like he was fighting the battle again, in his head. Like one part of his brain wanted to say something and the other side wanted to stop him. Bucky glanced at Steve, and looked like he was going to say something he regretted, even though he meant every word.

  
            The truth.

  
            “Because…” he paused, grimacing. “Because…you shouldn’t have to see me like that.”

  
            Steve’s heart stopped.

  
            His friend, no, his _best_ friend had been feeling something he had never expected.

  
            Bucky was _ashamed._

  
            He was ashamed of everything he had done. Every life he had altered, every bullet he had shot while he was under Hydra’s curse. It wasn’t that the memories hurt physically, being ripped from his mind. It was because Bucky felt physical pain, being _reminded_ that he did those things. He wasn’t distraught over the fact that they tortured him for years, it was the fact that Bucky believed he _deserved_ it.

  
            Steve understood now.

  
            The kettle whistled, and Steve stayed silent. He poured the tea, and they sat there, soaking the tea bags. He brought the two mugs over the beds and sat there, looking into the cup.

  
            "Bucky...your nightmares...are nothing to be ashamed of.” Steve said, deeply and quietly. “I'm not sure how you thought I would react but-" 

  
          Bucky interrupted, “This is exactly how I thought you’d react. You’d freak out, and act like I was a broken toy needing to be fixed.”

  
            That was the most Steve had heard Buck say the entire time they had been together. Unfortunately, those words hurt most of all.

  
            Steve truly wanted to help Bucky, in any way he could. He never knew how.

  
            “I don’t think you need to be fixed.”

  
            _I just want you to be happy._

 _  
_            Steve looked at Bucky, who looked so…broken.

  
            “Steve…” he said, his eyes getting steamy again. “I’m sorry.”

  
            He believed him.

  
            “I know, Buck.”

  
            Steve waited a beat, to see if Bucky wanted to say anything else. When he didn’t, he took another sip of tea, and went to his bed. He pulled the covers up to his neck, feeling the warmth engulf him welcomingly.

  
            “Goodnight, Bucky.”

  
            “Goodnight, Steve.”

  
            Steve didn’t sleep a wink that night.  

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, just posted my first work *sweating intensifies*  
> I hope you like it! This is an alternate universe where instead of freezing Bucky in Wakanda, Steve and Bucky go on the run from the government. Please comment your thoughts, I'd love to know them. 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: Bucky will be thinking about psychological and physical torture and abuse, along with detailed visions and nightmares of the war and Steve's death, as well as PTSD and suicide. If you have trouble reading about these topics in detail, please be safe <3


End file.
